


Creature of the Painful Darkness

by livtontea



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gore, No Dialogue, Not Beta Read, POV Second Person, Prompt: Moon, Transformation, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livtontea/pseuds/livtontea
Summary: When looking up at the sky, one can usually see the moon, along with the twinkling little dots we know as stars and planets.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Creature of the Painful Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the prompt "moon" on tehmoonofficial's server! This was fun to write. I couldn't resist the second person, so... Yeah. I hope you enjoy!

When looking up at the sky, one can usually see the moon, along with the twinkling little dots we know as stars and planets. You can see the entire universe scattered before you, galaxies and stardust mingling. You can also see nothing, the darkness of the night sky too inky and encompassing for you to make out anything but the faint glow of the cosmos.

The wind howls, and you close your eyes, letting the cold nip at your face. Tonight, the moon is a pale orb in the sky, shining as if it were a looking glass—refracting and reflecting and sending the Sun’s shine to Earth. It hasn’t yet reached its zenith, but you feel the familiar ache that comes with the moon rising. The patch of skin between your scapulae itches.

You can hear them—the echoes of the night. Owls hoot deep in the forest, and crickets chirp their nightly song. If you strain, the sound of deer carefully stepping along the leaf-laden ground reaches your ears.

The moon shines over the woods. You allow yourself to follow the habits of the night and take a moment to bask in the pale light that graces your features. A moment—just a moment—to soak it in. A moment, one generous moment, and nothing more.

The moon rises higher. It’s nearly time.

You stand from your place on the cliff, already unlatching your garments and pulling at your clothes. Your pants sink to your ankles, allowing you to step out of them. You’re barefoot already; less hassle, and it’s easier to trudge back home when you don't have to worry about footwear. 

Your shirt comes off easily enough. You remember one time you wore one too tight and got stuck. The shreds of fabric were everywhere, after. This one, a pretty yellow that you can barely see in the dark, falls to the ground. You silently wonder how many stains you will find on it when morning comes.

Your underclothes stay on, for now. You always remove those last, right before it begins. You sit once more, feeling the cold of the earth through your thin cotton underwear. Your chest itches, and you resist the urge to scratch at it; you can already feel your fingernails sharpening and becoming thicker, harder, better for a fight than a human's could ever be.

The moon shines brighter, grows louder, and you know: it’s starting.

You wiggle out of your undergarments and drop them into your other clothing; wrapping all of it into a bundle and hiding it where you usually do—so the animals (and yourself) don’t get to it during the night.

The noise from the moon screeches in your ears, and you don't clamp your hands over them. You don't try to shake the invasive sound from your head, allowing it to hammer the inside of your skull, feeling your brain turn to pulp. You drop down on all fours and claw at the solid ground, dirt clumping together on your unguis—your nails are already replaced by the sharp claws of an animal.

You yell out in pain as your bones shift under your skin. Your shoulders always break first; this time is no different. Pain stains your vision red and your breathing grows heavier, your skeleton fracturing and pulling into new places. Your ribs strain. You always worry that the shattered pieces will puncture something—a lung deflating inside of your chest, or stomach spilling acid all over your innards—and you’ll be left to die here, alone and inhuman. It’s an irrational fear, of course. Nothing even close to that has ever happened before, and it won’t happen now. But still, you worry.

Your fingers and toes snap apart and back together. Your teeth sharpen, and your jaw breaks. This is one of the most painful parts of the full moon. You whine as your face becomes more of a snout, your jaw elongating and fusing back together.

It burns, all of it. Your body feels like it has been set alight, a flimsy piece of paper brought too close to a burning match. The moon shines on, unwavering. You cough up a small puddle of blood, watching the red soak into the ground. Your vision is so hazy from the pain, and your mind is nearly gone. As it continues, as you continue your grotesque and monstrous transformation; as blood spills and your bones break and your joints shift and grind together—all that echoes in your head is a ferocious chant of  _ hunger, food, pain, glory, animal, moon, PAIN, wild, HUNGER, PAIN, BLOOD, DESTRUCTION HELP ME PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN- _

A wolf drops onto the ground, panting. It stays still; licks the blood trickling from its mouth. Then it stands, tall and furious. The moon shines—cold, hurtful, welcoming. Wind rustles the wolf’s hide, sending lithe waves coursing through matted fur. 

You raise your head to howl—and you don’t think about how lovely it would be if the animalistic cries telling of your anguish reached the heavens.

**Author's Note:**

> I really vibe with werewolves okay. Writing about them is so fun.


End file.
